one whose
early years had been passed in misery and in want.

It was in the ancient hotel of the Duc de Noailles that Gabrielle was
lodged, and all the splendour of that princely residence remained as
in the time of its former owners; even to the portraits of the haughty
ancestry upon the walls, and the proud emblazonry of armorial bearings
over doors and chimneys, nothing was changed; the embroidered crests
upon chairs and tablecovers, the gilded coronets that ornamented every
architrave and cornice, stood forth in testimony of those in whose
honour those insignia were fashioned.

Preceding Gerald, and walking at a rapid pace, Gabrielle passed through
several splendid rooms, till she came to one whose walls, hung in
purple velvet with a deep gold fringe, had an air of almost sombre
magnificence, the furniture being all of the same grave tint, and even
the solitary lamp which lighted the apartment having a glass shade of a
deep purple colour.

'This is my chamber of study, Gherardi,' said she, as they entered.
'None ever come to disturb me when here. Here, therefore, we are alone
to question and to reply to each other--to render account of the past
and speculate on the future--and, first of all, tell me, am I changed?'

As she spoke she tossed aside her bonnet, and loosening her long hair
from its bands, suffered it to fall upon her neck and shoulders in the
wild masses it assumed in girlhood. She crossed her arms, too, upon her
breast in imitation of a gesture familiar to her, and stood motionless
before him.

Long and steadfastly did Gerald continue to stare at her.. It was like
the look of one who would read if he might every trait and lineament
before him, and satisfy his mind what characters had time written upon a
nature he had once known so well.

'You do not answer me,' said she at last; 'am I then changed?'

A faint low sigh escaped him, but he uttered no word.

'Be frank with me as a brother ought; tell me wherein is this change?
You thought me handsome once; am I less so?'

'Oh! no, no! not that, not that!' cried he passionately; 'you are more
beautiful than ever.'

'Is there in my expression aught that gives you grief? has the world
written boldness upon my brow? or do you fancy that you can trace the
cost of all the splendour around us in some faint lines of shame and
sorrow? Speak, sir, and be honest with me.'

'I have no right to call you to such a reckoning, Marietta,' said he,
half proudly